thearena | End of the line [closed]

Entry tags:

✘ pruna

End of the line [closed]

WHO | Pruna and Hyperion
WHAT | Pruna's luck finally runs out
WHERE | Frontierland
WHEN | Just after the feast
WARNINGS/NOTES | Death of a small child, also descriptions of bad injuries involving the food and ankle. Will add more if necessary

Pruna fled, crawling out of the clearing where the tree was, ignoring the shouts behind her. She dragged her leg, ever movement sending jolts of pain through her, her foot was sticking out at the wrong angle, blood and dirt covering the skin which was rapidly bruising.

Her breath was ragged, and she breathed deeply, seeking the emptiness and finding refuse there. She couldn't hold it for long, it still slipped a lot, but it was enough for her to keep moving, get away from people. She needed to find somewhere to hide, to deal with her ankle.

She was so worried about what might be coming after her from the feast, that she didn't notice what was infront of her until it was too late.

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Hyperion did not attend the feast, but he didn't stray too far from it, either, waiting around with one hand tucked in his pocket, curious but patient. The sounds of the little girl struggling to get away came not too soon afterwards, but they were enough to catch his attention, make him follow with his eyes, then his steps.

The sight was pitiful. He'd seen this girl before, even spoken to her. She had a strange way with words, unsophisticated, broken. He suspected that was a reflection of her entire being - and he remembered her claim that she'd kill many people before their first encounter, knife in her hand, threatening to make him next if he didn't move.

Look at her now.

Hyperion made no move to help, but he showed no signs of danger, either. Not yet, at least. The spear in his hand was still, the knife he kept was hidden. Instead it was curiosity that colored his words, head shifting slowly to take a better look without moving too close.

"What happened?"

She still had her knife, and she scrabbled for it now at hearing the voice, the handle was cracked from the fall, but the blade seemed alright, it was better than nothing.

"You do be staying away from me." She tried to sound threatening rather than terrified. She wasn't allowed to be scared, fear wasn't a luxury assassins could afford.

But she could see reality, she was injured and he was armed, if she was in his position she wouldn't hesitate, so she must be ready to fight.

"And a stupid tree did be happening. Stupid heavy people did be making it break." Adults shouldn't be allowed to climb trees, end of discussion.

Poor thing. That's what he was supposed to think, wasn't it?

"Tree broke. You fell?" Fell and injured herself, but still managed to get away from whatever had given her reason to run. That was admirable, if nothing else. Needless to say Hyperion was going to ignore her threat, pay no mind to the broken weapon in her hand. He had so much more.

There was an appreciative tilt of his head, trying to find more. Pick up more details. "You don't look so good. Where are you hurt."

She nodded, still holding her knife up, eyes narrowed. "My foot." She glared at him, "But I do be fine so you can be just going away."

There's silence when her last word leaves her lips, and Hyperion stands still to watch her. Eyes shift to the knife, then back to her eyes. Her terrified, angry, dark little eyes.

"I don't think I'm gonna do that."

He almost sounds apologetic. Like the fact that he's ignoring her demand is an inevitability, not a choice. The virus is doing this, not him. Not Hyperion, the Scrounger, but Hyperion, the man who killed his brother and hasn't stopped ever since.

In a sudden, crisp movement, the spear in his hand slams against the side of her head.

She had been expecting this. She had known the moment she had fallen that it would come to this, because once she was injured she was weak, and slow.

The spear hit her and she fell sideways, blood coming from the wound, dripping down her face. It hurt, a lot, but she knew that head wounds bled a lot so she didn't panic. She scrabbled as much as she could, lashing out with her knife, trying to move away, dragging her foot behind her.

She was slow to move away and Hyperion was slow to follow, predator appreciating its newest victim. His fingers curled tighter around the spear, wondering whether to make this last or to finish her off mercifully. Look at all that blood - paired up with the injury on her foot, she couldn't possibly go too far. If not him, someone else would surely claim her life.

It was better this way.

"What's your name?" He couldn't remember if she'd given it to him, didn't entirely care if she was in a condition to offer it anymore.

She gripped her shoes in her hand, wondering if she could throw them at him, if they would hit from this angle. Then again they would only slow him down for a moment, and she would need more than that with her leg injured like this.

She continued scrabbling away, wishing she could at least stand. She had killed enough people to recognise the look in his eyes, to know that unless she could think of something very very clever very very fast she was about to die, and Kant always had told her that if you really had to die it was best to do it stood up facing your enemies.

So huddled awkwardly glaring up at the man with the spear was as close as she could manage. She was dizzy but she could still hear him.

"Even if... I did be having a name... I would no be telling you it." She reached out, to grab a stone she had spotted, and threw it at him.

The stone hit him hard on the bone of his forearm. That was definitely going to leave a mark, but soon the pain became an afterthought. His arms were the least of his worries, after all. They could easily be repaired.

"That's a shame. You know - I get the feeling you didn't really like me from the start. Remember-? When we met at the feast." His eyes narrowed as he pointed at her, not accusingly. "Did I do something? I realize I can be a little off-putting sometimes. I don't do it on purpose, though, I promise."

He was oddly conversational, considering their circumstances, approaching and circling the girl, spear still very steady in his hand. Of course there were little to no reasons for her to grow fond of him now, but he figured that was never going to happen either way. All that was left was an injured little girl, ready for the kill. He was ready, too.

She scrambled back some more but he was circling her so she concentrated on turning round, not letting him out of her sight. She glared at him wondering why he cared, he was going to kill her so what did it matter if she liked him or not.

Indeed she didn't really have an opinion either way, he had been in her way in the feast but she hadn't actively disliked him. She blinked at him blearily and warily.

She kept her knife up and looked for another stone to throw.

The spear was suddenly ready in his hand, same as before, ready to hit the girl to knock her out for a few seconds of advantage. Hyperion's expression changed in warning, like a parent silently threatening to ground their child if they spent another second misbehaving. He was talking; all she had to do was listen, with or without her knife, preferably without throwing another rock.

"Stop that. I'm talking to you. Now," He lifted his free hand, disarmingly, "You don't have to answer if you don't wanna, but you do have to pay attention." His words slowed down as he finished, completely patronizing. "Understand?"

He got a glare in return, and her whole head hurt too much to stick out her tongue or she would. He sounded like Tawin, the voice he used when she had been bad, but not bad enough to be handed over to Priestess Elina.

Except she hadn't done anything she finally found another rock and threw it again. "Why would I... be listening to you?"

Another rock brushed aside, another bruise to worry about later. He didn't care. His focus was on the exchange of words between him and the girl.

"Because your life depends on it."

Simple as that. That much was true, if nothing else.

She glared at that but didn't throw any more rocks. She didn't think she believed him, surely he would kill her anyways now that he had her surrounded, but if there was a chance she could escape whilst he was talking.

"Then you do be be talking then, do no just be standing there."

Hyperion crouched, safe distance between him and the girl, still enough to pose a threat for her wellbeing if she tried to run. But she wouldn't do that, would she? Not now that he'd made her a promise of sorts.

"What do you wanna talk about?"

The girl's head was pounding, the cut feeling like it was on fire. Her eyes darted round trying to figure an escape route, a way to get past him despite her foot injury.

She closed her eyes briefly imagining a storm inside her head, starting to throw the pain inside, and the fear. That could all go first.

She didn't answer him, he had said she just needed to listen, so she concentrated on finding the emptiness. It was harder than it usually was, because she was more scared than she usually was but she threw everything inside the storm, the arena and this man, the people she had killed, the nice man who had given her the peaches and the man who kept trying to grab her.

Hyperion might not notice the change, her eyes were a bit more focused. But her mind was clear, the pain behind a bubble with the fear. She looked around again, looking for escape paths.

"Whatever you do be wanting to be talking about."

"Okay." He was quiet for a moment, observant, watching the changes in the girl's attitude. Hyperion would have liked to gain her name somehow, establish that link between them. He felt it was important in these times, when he was in control and they were within his grasp. Calmly, nonchalantly, he shrugged and continued to ask her a simple question.

"How do you want to die?"

"Why would I be wanting to die, that do be being a stupid question." She still didn't have any wonderful plans, but slowly she began moving herself from sitting down to crouching, still with all the weight on her good foot.

It felt a little less vulnerable at least.

"I didn't ask you if you wanted to die." His voice was patient, his eyes watchful. He didn't mind her movements - he could grab her easily, at this rate, if she tried to run. "We're all going to die some day. It's an inevitability. We rarely get to choose how it happens, if ever." It was quite simple, really. The way he arched his brows and gestured to the girl made it seem like that, at least. "So how do you want to die?"

She scowled at him, angry at him and angry at herself for being helpless to stop him from doing whatever he wished.

"I will be fighting you." Whether that was her wish or just a threat could be contested.

He'd take that as an answer. A good one, if incomplete and indirect. Hyperion considered it pathetic to go down without a fight. The girl had something in her that made her worthy of his knife. She'd be remembered for it when she fell for the last time, he decided.

It was a promise.

"I know you will."

He stood up again, dropping the spear by his side, and walked towards her, taking his knife out of his pocket.

She glared at him, but him using a knife meant he had shorter reach. That was good. She shifted in her crouch, pain flaring and threatening to burst the bubble of the emptiness.

She didn't have much time, he had her cornered and as getting closer every second.

Only prey wait for the kill little one, if you can see no way out at all then just fight and fight some more. At least you'll go down with dignity.

Kant was the wisest person she knew, so without another moments pause she used her good leg to launch herself into a roll, pain screaming through her as she tried to barrel into him, driving her knife in the direction of his leg.

The knife was tilted to the side, as if purposely showing her the blade, as if wanting her to see one last thing before he killed her. He was sure that's how this would end, with or without new bruises and consequences to add to the blood that had been spilled on and from Hyperion's body.

He instinctively winced away from her attack, knife barely touching his skin as his legs moved, to the side, crouching down to catch the girl by her hair, to yank her back and expose her neck, shoving her back down on the ground with the knife against her throat.

"I'll do it quickly," He muttered through his teeth, struggling to keep her in place, without a single worry as to whether she went down quietly or screeching like a banshee, "I'll do it quickly."

She wouldn't feel a thing. It'd be merciful. She was worthy for fighting back.

She went down quietly, glaring at him and struggling despite the pain. Her eyes flickered with fear as the emptiness came undone around her. Now that it actually got down to it she didn't want to die, she wanted to go back to Gauig and be with her sister.

Her lips moved, and she began whispering a prayer hurriedly, that petered out in half a line, she had never bothered learning the prayer you were meant to say as you died, she had never planned on dying. She hoped the effort was enough.

At least he told the truth, in the end it barely hurt at all.

The knife slid off her throat and blood poured - onto her clothes, into his hands, onto the ground. His eyes were shut and his arm stretched to the side, as if breathing in her last gasps for life as they escaped into thin air, shaped like words he didn't recognize. It was a clean cut, just like he promised. He laid the girl down on the soil carefully and stood up, wiping his forehead with his thumb.

Hyperion looked upwards and smiled, lips splitting to show teeth. It was done.

She was gone and he felt free.

She told him she'd taken eight lives, wasn't that right?

(Three down. Five to go.)

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End of the line [closed]

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I'm guessing he hit with the side of the spear? If I read it wrong let me know

correct!

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